


The Red Hood

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 02:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15831957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: When Dean Winchester suddenly wakes up in the wrong bed with a women shouting at him that he is the Red Riding Hood there isn't much he can do to escape. But being mistaken for the Red Hood is only the first of his troubles.





	The Red Hood

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fanfic. Kudos and comments are appreciated. 
> 
> Warning for:  
> violence  
> non/con
> 
> Enjoy!

The Red Hood

 

Someone was shaking him vigorously but Dean Winchester turned around, ignoring it. He just wanted five more minutes of sleep but the shaking persisted.

 

“What?”, he answered gruffly and opened his eyes. A women in her 30's stared down at him disapprovingly. Her dark brown hair was in a braid and she pointed an accusing finger at him.

 

“Why are you lingering in bed? Do you presume the sickly wait all day for Your Highness to wake up? Rise and shine!”

 

Dean jumped up from the bed and backed away from the women. He held out a hand to keep the her at bay. Quickly he looked around; there was a wooden closet in the corner, a window to the right of the bed that let the sun in and a small table near the entrance door. The floor board creaked when he took a step.

 

Just when he was to inform pop-up lady who she was dealing with he saw the mirror hanging on the wall. Dean's eyes went wide as he noticed the reflection staring back at him. He was wearing a long blue dress, slightly fitted with a belt casually hanging from the hips. He raised one foot to inspect the leather boot. Nice soft leather, kind of nice but still...

 

“What the fuck is going...” The slap made him see black for a few seconds. Lady with an iron-fist raised her hand again.

 

“You are not to consort with young Lucille again. Her brothers make her tongue foul. I will not have that from you. You are really late and darkness will soon be upon you so hurry up, Deana. You know how ill Grandma is.” She wrapped a red hooded cloak around Dean's shoulders and thrust a basket in his hands. “16 winters you have been on this Earth, but if I hear you speak like that again, God help me, I will spank you.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Look here, Mrs Grey, I'm sure this is some kind of mistake. Dude here, 6 feet tall, definitely no lady parts.” He tried his best smile but all he got was an incredulous look and a slap on his ass.

 

“I really don't understand what the matter is with you today”, pop-up lady complained. “Off you go and stay on the path. It's getting dark!”

 

The dress was cumbersome to walk in, the stupid cloak tried to trip him and he still didn't know what the fuck was going on. Which 16 year old girl needed a cloak that long anyways? He saw a path that led to the woods and pointedly walked the other way. Maybe he could try another house, find a phone, find his brother. He was pretty sure Sam had been with him. He tried to recollect what had happened before this Disney nightmare; they were hunting...something. It was all a blur to him, and that worried him.

 

After a few minutes he noticed his surroundings were familiar. He was back at the house.

Great, just great... What kind of monster could do this, because this fuckery had to be some kind of magic. Maybe this was some Trickster set-up. Dean clenched his jaw and went a second way, away from the forest.

 

Suddenly it hit him. Castiel! He could help. He would just pray and his feathery friend would come and save the day. Dean closed his eyes.

 

_Cas! Cas, you there? Listen, I'm stuck in some weird ass story book come to life and need a ride home._ He waited. _Hello? I know reception might be bad but I'm praying really hard here._ He softened his thoughts. _I need you Cas._ Dean waited a few more minutes but all he got for that was silence. No angel in sight.

 

Dean opened his eyes again. The village and house were cast in shadows but Dean noticed a faint light illuminating the path to the forest. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the basket firmly. Fine, he got the message; play along like a good little hunter. He grumbled and trudged along the path. Soon the woods swallowed him.

 

After walking for awhile with branches, moss and everything else woodsy trying to cling to him Dean ripped the hem of the dress. With his legs free he could take longer strides and set a quicker pace. “Sam!”, he shouted as he was traversing through moss, grass and bushes that scratched at his legs, leaving small little red welts. The dark was closing in on him but that eerily light that illuminated the road was still there. As long as he was on the path he would be fine... Kind of. Sam could be anywhere. Maybe he wasn't even here, whatever here was. That thought worried so Dean pushed it down. The cold was starting to bite, so he pulled up the hood and wrapped the cloak more tightly around himself.

 

Trudging along for what Dean thought was a good half an hour, he realized he was hungry. He peered into the basket. Wrapped in some cloth were four large sandwiches, a piece of pie, a silver spoon and a pear. If he knew the story right there was probably some old prune of a woman waiting for him at the end. She probably didn't have any teeth and old ladies were tiny. He shrugged and took out the pie. As he took a sniff he inhaled cinnamon and cardamom.

 

There was a snap of a twig somewhere in the dark. Dean dropped the pie and turned towards the sound. He doubted this was Sam although he probably would sound like a moose traversing over every stick and twig he could find. Dean looked around for anything that would work as a weapon besides himself and came up empty. He sighed and grabbed the spoon. It was something.

 

Eyes shining with gold approached until the creature was so close to the path that the spooky light revealed a tall man in pants and a green shirt. If not for the yellow wolf eyes, long fangs and sharp claws instead of nails this could easily have been some barefoot guy just being out and about enjoying the scenery.

 

“Hello there, little one”, the werewolf spoke as he inched closer to Dean. “Why is a pretty girl like you all alone in the woods, in times like these?”

 

Dean tightened his hold on the spoon. He contemplated carving out the monster's eye but that would only make the wolf angry, not dead. The werewolf looked down at Dean as he finally stood before him. This guy was big, probably bigger then Sam.

 

Yeah why was I here all alone? Well, Mr Big Bad Fakewolf, some magic crap happened and now this lady that insisted her old mother, who is probably too pukey to really need a sandwich anyway, was hungry. Since there is no Uber here, why not send me out all alone in the creepy woods with freaky werewolves. Oh, and everyone else sees me like a 16 year old girl, but you know it's cool, cause I have a fucking spoon to defend myself with!

 

Dean decided to go with the easy answer. “My grandmother has the munchies, what can I do?'

 

The werewolf inched closer. A clawed hand reached out and stroke his face, pushing the hood down over his shoulders. Every instinct in Dean screamed for him to run, to kick, to bite. He even contemplated using the ridiculous spoon but he remained in place. The man, werewolf, whatever was so close to Dean now the he could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. A clawed finger trailed down his neck, lingered and then fell away. The wolf inhaled again as if to savor Dean's scent. Fucking creep.

 

“Mm, hunger I can understand. You smell delicious”, the werewolf drawled and licked his lips. “I would love to taste you.” He paused. “I mean taste your food, yes.” The wolf's hand went up, in under Dean's cloak and caressed his side. His eyes were locked unto Dean's as his fingers trailed further down.

 

Like hell that Dean was playing along with this crap anymore, this story would end differently. He was going to kill this son of a bitch. Dean recoiled from the touch but the werewolf brought his hand back again, claws digger in sharp this time. Dean hissed but the wolf just smiled.

 

“Stay, my sweet.” Dean found himself glued to the spot, unable to move.

 

“I would very much like to know, where is your grandmother's abode?” The wolf-man grinned as his other hand went to Dean's mouth. His clawed fingers grazed lightly against Dean's lips.

 

Dean felt shivers rack him, and goose flesh cover his body. Why couldn't he move? He blinked as the man let his hand fall away from Dean's mouth. He wasn't going to tell this perv anything. He didn't even know where that grandma's dingy old cottage was anyway. If by taste the werewolf meant devour poor grandma whole, then sure. Dean spat on the ground, trying to get rid of the taste of werewolf.

 

An acid retort was on his lips when he suddenly felt a knowing and an overwhelming urge to reply.

“It's one more mile down the road, then you make a left and leave the path.”

 

The wolf squeezed Dean's side harder and he groaned. He felt something wet trickle down, pretty sure the fucker had punctured his skin. The werewolf leaned in towards Dean's neck.

“Why, thanks, my love”, he murmured. With that the wolf bent down, picked something up and then leaped away from the path, disappearing into the shadows again. The asshole had stolen his pie.

 

 

*******

 

Dean was pissed off. _Something_ obviously wanted him to go through this whole piss-poor excuse of a children's tale to the end, his side was bleeding and that hyped up fairy tale-wolf had taken his pie. He contemplated eating a sandwich but the thought of eating led to thoughts of the werewolf. If he had managed to subdue the wolf would he have been forced to go through all this again? Dean's throat went dry and he was suddenly not hungry. He kicked at a bush angrily. Besides, he needed to save something for freaking grandma.

 

His mind went to the angel. _Cas, I really need you here, man. You always say that you can hear my when I pray. Then hear this, this is some fucked up shit. Getting groped by a wolf, trying to save some shriveled up version of Betty White._ He laughed but immediately regretted it as it sent pain rippling through his side. Dean walked dutifully on his magical path for what seemed like hours. Where was her house anyway, deep down in Mordor? The blood at his side had dried and pulled uncomfortably when he walked.

 

At long last the glowing path revealed a house in the middle of a clearing. The darkness crouched around the cottage that much to Dean's dismay didn't look rickety at all but rather cozy and welcoming. The magical voodoo light shone like a barrier, enveloping the building in a soft glow. Dean walked around the house, looking for any traps. A few feet away he noticed a stone well, the wooden bucket tossed haphazardly to the side. Next to it was a small shed, the door made of some wooden planks roughly covering an opening big enough for a little old lady. Dean squinted with his eyes, maybe it wasn't a shed but a latrine.

 

Maybe he could just wait outside until the Hunter arrived. He chuckled at that but quickly got somber. He still wasn't sure which version of the Red Riding Hood he'd been magically zapped into and some of them definitely didn't end on a good note. Maybe his version didn't even have a hunter and left Dean waiting for no-one until he felt an irresistible urge to follow the story through. Maybe if he followed through he would be out of this nightmare. There were too many maybe's for Dean's liking.

 

He rummaged through the basket until he found the spoon. It had the right weight, and a good shine; he could only hope it was silver. His next hope was that silver could actually _kill_ this version of a werewolf. On silent feet he walked to what he was hoping was a shed. Dean took a whiff and smiled; this was certainly not a shithouse. Finally some luck. He tried the door but a small padlock kept the entrance safe from intruders. Fuck this and fuck that padlock!

 

Dean took a step back and with all his weight behind him, kicked the door open. He bit back a scream as the shock of the kick reverberated through him and made a painful echo at his side. He was going to murder that werewolf dead!

 

Finally inside, he looked around at anything to make his spoon into a weapon. After looking for several minutes he found nothing that could help him. Dean let out a frustrated sigh. Come on grandma, you must have been young and strong back in the day. Where are your power tools? Just as he was to turn around and leave the shed he saw a small crate covered up by a moldy blanket just behind the door. He went over and pulled the cloth away. Bingo! Dean grinned at the grind stone.

 

After what felt like an eternity and Dean's side throbbing dully with pain he finally had something that resembled a sharp end on the spoon. He tested it with his finger and nodded; sharp enough. He shoved his pain away and grit his teeth. Showtime. The basket abandoned on the ground, Dean grabbed said spoon and went over to the house. A knock at the door, several seconds of waiting and Dean had had enough. It was not like Mr Wolfie didn't know he was coming anyway. He opened the door and went inside.

 

*******

 

The interior of the house was cast in darkness. Dean frowned and looked back outside before he closed the door. So none of the My little pony-sparkle could reach inside the house? Of course not, that would have been too easy. Dean dropped the basket by his feet and turned right. What appeared to be a little kitchen was before him; a wood burning stove in one corner, a table and some chairs and a cupboard. He searched for a knife but all he could find was something that rather wanted to be called a potato peeler then knife. He guessed the spoon would have to do.

 

The room to Dean's right turned out to be a small living room with a rocking chair, a small fireplace, another table and some books neatly placed in a book-shelf. No big bad wolf in sight, so he turned back. There was a small hallway in the middle of the two rooms that ended with a closed door. Probably were old Nan used to sleep before she got munched up by big bad dog. Dean went over and carefully opened the door. The bed was straight ahead, with a big headboard climbing halfway up the wall. He unclasped the cloak and it sank softly to the floor.

 

_Cas? Help me, man?_ Dean waited, his heart beating steadily but the angel didn't show. It didn't surprise him but it still left a dull ache inside. He approached the bed.

 

Dean peered over at the werewolf laying there, eyes closed and his chest slowly rising up and down with each breath. If not for the sharp nails you could almost mistake him for a human. He thought back to his encounter with the werewolf earlier and his heart lurched. Nope, he knew better, this sick puppy was definitely not human. Dean raised his hand to stab him in the heart with the spoon when the werewolf suddenly opened his eyes. They shone brightly in the dark.

 

“Hello, my dear Red Hood. So kind of you to visit your sickly old grandmother at this late hour.” His mouth turned up as he smiled.

 

Dean found that he couldn't stab the werewolf. He stared down at the man with every intention of putting that spoon right through his twisted heart but he couldn't. The wolf's grin grew wider as Dean lowered the knife.

 

“Do you need to speak some words to me Red? I have sorely missed you.” He inhaled and sighed contentedly. “Your smell is...heady.” He raised a hand and beckoned with a finger. “Come closer by all means. I haven't seen my grandchild in a while and this darkness is not kind to an old lady's eyes. Now speak, child”

 

Dean tried really hard not to do as the werewolf asked but nonetheless he leaned over, closer to him. Fuck him, he was not going to say anything. Like hell he was... Yet he found himself opening his mouth.

 

“Grandmother, what big ears you have.” What murderous thoughts were on Dean's mind stopped when the werewolf's right hand went to his neck and gripped tightly at the short hair. His clawed thumb briefly went over Dean's ear and goose-flesh erupted all over Dean's body. The man's lips brushed the hunter's ear as he whispered:

 

“Mm yes, the better to hear you with my child”. The grip in Dean's hair tightened as the wolf turned his head slightly so he could get a better look at him.

 

With all his might Dean tried to raise his knife but he could as well do that as try to get Sam to get a decent haircut. Fuck! Dean gritted his teeth but still the goddamn phrase whispered past his lips. “Grandmother, what big eyes you have.”

 

With the left hand the werewolf gently caressed Dean's cheek, his breath playing over Dean's face. A low frustrated growl escaped him. Why the hell was he stuck like this?

 

The clawed thumb moved right below his right eye, pressing threateningly. “Shh, yes my sweet child, the better to see you with.”

With that the werewolf still with his right hand firmly in Dean's hair yanked him into bed, their bodies pressed tightly together with Dean on top. He tried to push off but felt strong legs wrap around him and he was turned over quickly. Dean landed softly on his back as his head was yanked back mercilessly.

 

What kind of fucked up version of the Red Riding Hood was this, Dean thought but he couldn't ignore his heart hammering wildly beneath his chest. The wolf caressed his right wrist with one hand and as Dean looked over he saw that he was still clutching the spoon. He was sure he could kill this piece of shit with the utensil if he could only will his goddamn arm to move.

 

The werewolf's hand skimmed over the spoon and he retreated quickly. Dean let out a labored breath as he tried to buck him off. At least he knew that the spoon was silver and that it could hurt him. God, this guy weighed a ton. Dean's eyes watered as the hand in his hair tightened even further. The other hand went back to Dean's wrist with the spoon and clamped down like a vice.

 

“You are doing so well”, the monster purred and bent down to nuzzle Dean's neck. “Say it.”

 

Dean thought his wrist was going to get crushed. “Grandmother, what big hands you have.”

 

Finally the werewolf let go of Dean's hair and Dean felt his scalp prickle as the pain subsided into an insistent ache.

 

“The better to hug you with.” With that, the werewolf rose slightly of the bed but still shielded Dean with his body. Dean tried to kick the fucker in the balls but had too little leverage and didn't accomplish anything remotely painful. Strong hands grabbed Dean and then the front of his dress was ripped to shreds. A clawed hand caressed his chest leaving a trail of pain and small rivulets of blood in it's wake.

 

“You motherfucker!” Dean screamed and arched his back trying to get off, trying to escape the pain that threatened to engulf him. The werewolf was in the way, impassive as a brick wall, leering down at him. Dean realized through the haze of pain that his arms were free and tried to stab him but his arm might as well been dead, ignoring his will.

 

Inhaling the scent of Dean, the werewolf nuzzled the side of his neck, while grinding down on him, moaning. He glanced quickly at the spoon and flashed his teeth.

 

“Any last words on your mind, sweet?”

 

Yeah, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. Dean glared at the man as he tried to breath through the pain of the marks burning in his chest. He almost sobbed as the unstoppable urge to speak washed over him but grabbed on to anger instead.

 

“Grandmother”, he spat; “what a big mouth you have.”

 

Eyes gleaming with something that Dean didn't want to think too closely about; the werewolf nestled into his side again, just breathing. Slowly his mouth trailed up towards Dean's mouth, leaving small kisses in it's wake. Bile burned at the back of Dean's throat. This was not happening.

 

“The better to kiss you with”, the werewolf whispered.

 

Dean tried to push away, tried to inhale some air through his mouth, his nose, but all he could feel was his wrist pounding in pain, pain thrumming in his chest, hammering a sickening rhythm together with his heart, his side clawing, as he tried to breathe, breathe, breathe. A tongue was brusquely thrust into Dean's mouth, exploring violently. Exploding violently.

 

An explosion of light chased away the shadows in the cottage as something appeared in front of them. Finally the werewolf stopped and Dean could move, and breathe and think. Castiel took in his surroundings, face momentarily confused and then his eyes widened as he recognized Dean.

 

Anger coursing through Dean, he grabbed the spoon, finally being able to do so and thrust it into the werewolf's heart. The monster screamed in confusing and pain and rolled of the bed, trying to stagger away, until he collapsed a few feet away from the door. Dean moaned as his wrist flamed up in pain again. God, he had totally forgotten about that.

 

Castiel was over at Dean's side in an instant. He tapped two outstretched fingers lightly on Dean's forehead and the hunter shuddered as Castiel healed him. Castiel's fingers lingered a moment before he let them fall down. Feeling somewhat better that this, whatever the fuck it had been was over, Dean glanced up at Cas.

  
“Good to finally see you.” Dean tried to smile. “You were the grandma, Cas?”

 

Castiel looked at him, trying to gauge how Dean would react. “In this instance, yes I was.” He looked away. “I'm sorry Dean... I could hear your prayers but I was preoccupied.” He looked at Dean with sad, earnest blue eyes.”I tried to reach you but I was blocked somehow.”

 

Dean got up and hugged Cas tightly, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

 

“Probably some weird magic stopping you. All that matters is that you are here. Now let's get the fuck away from the Enchanted Forrest and BitchWolf.” Dean just had time to finish his sentence, before the world went black.

 

*******

 

When Dean came to he was in his own bed in the Bunker. No weird hysterical woman shouting at him, no creepy-ass fluorescent path and no werewolf. Dean sighed with relief at the familiar sight. Cas was laying next to him. Dean curled closer to him, inhaling the familiar scent of the ocean, cinnamon and that note that was uniquely Castiel's.

 

The door to Dean's room flew open and Sam crashed into his room with his gun raised. When Sam saw his brother, he splashed holy water on him, and pressed a silver knife in his hand. Dean sputtered and dropped the knife after a few seconds.

 

“What the hell, Sam? I'm fine, alright... Just give me a couple of hours of shut-eye and I will tell you everything.” Dean grimaced. Well, almost everything.

 

Sam smiled cautiously.”Just making sure everything is alright. The bunker's alarm went off and you guys were gone for 30 minutes and magically reappeared again. You sure you are okay?”

 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face.

 

“Yes, Sam, we are fine. As I said, some shut-eye and we will be as new again.” Dean grabbed some paper and wiped the remaining water of his face. Sam went over to Dean and hugged him tight.

 

“Glad to have you back, Dean.” Dean rolled his eyes but hugged Sam tighter until Sam let go, leaned over the bed and hugged Castiel. The angel gave him a quick smile, assuring him everything was okay.

 

“Okay, enough is enough, Sam. Thank you,” Dean mumbled and pushed Sam off the bed. At that instant the door opened and Jack peered inside.

 

“Sam, I heard some noise and wanted to...” When he saw Dean and Cas he smiled. “Hi guys, you are back!”

 

Dean put his arm around Cas, and nuzzled closer. “Yes, we are back, pixies and stardust. Everything is alright, Jack.” When Sam didn't make a motion to leave, Dean growled. ”Go back to sleep. Seriously, go back to fucking sleep, Sam! Cas is here, I'm fine.”

 

With a smile Sam ushered Jack out of the room and closed the door.

 

Castiel turned to face Dean. His brown hair was disheveled from sleep, and his green eyes were bright. Small freckles dusted his nose and cheeks. He looked the same way he always had in Castiel's eyes, beautiful. “You are certain you are fine, Dean? I have my misgivings about that...”

 

Dean touched Cas' cheek and smiled.“I'm somewhat fine...” He sighed. “I promise we will talk after I get some sleep. I'm beat, man”. With that Dean turned around and sighed happily as he felt Castiel's arms sneak around his waist. Quickly sleep took him.

 


End file.
